


our brand becomes our calling

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Series: something wicked [5]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, dark magic au, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: They say you should never meet your heroes.





	our brand becomes our calling

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place while Rhys is still at Hogwarts, well before _my hands are of your color_.

_THEN_

 

Rhys shuffles sheets of blank parchment nervously, knocking his quill off the desk. Before he can even try to catch it, Vaughn flicks his wand and the quill halts, hovering in the air for a moment before floating back up and settling gently on Rhys’ desk. Rhys blinks, impressed.

“Nice wandwork.” Rhys grins as he picks up the quill and twirls it in his fingers. “You been practicing?”

“Yeah.” Vaughn smiles back and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Never too early to start preparing for those N.E.W.T.S, you know?”

Rhys sighs, anxiety bubbling up in his stomach again. He does know; they _all_ know, they’ve only had that phrase drilled into them since their fifth year, before they had even taken their O.W.L.S. Rhys feels like he’d barely had time to celebrate his - fairly impressive, if he does say so himself - marks before the professors had whisked away the O.W.L. rankings and replaced them with a stack of parchment titled _N.E.W.T. PREPARATION._

The stack had been at least two inches thick, and that was volume _one_.

But Rhys feels pretty confident in his chances; he’s been studying hard, he hasn’t overloaded himself, and he’d picked all the subjects recommended by the Ministry for Auror preparation. The head of his House had tried to shuffle him onto a more bureaucratic path, but Rhys has no interest in becoming a middle-manager.

He’s going to become an Auror. Just like “Handsome” Jack Lawrence.

That’s why he’s here, indoors on a beautiful Saturday when he could be relaxing by the lake, at the “Ministry Careers Q & A Panel” being held in the Transfiguration classroom. The Ministry is sending representatives from Broom Regulatory Control, the International Magical Office of Law, the Muggle Liaison Office - and of course, an Auror.

Rumor has it that the Auror _might_ be Jack Lawrence. He’s done these panels before; Rhys has the photos from the Hogwarts Herald, carefully cut out and taped up over his bed. It’s _not_ creepy, no matter what Vaughn says, it’s - it’s _motivational_ . Jack Lawrence is everything Rhys wants to be: handsome, charismatic, _powerful_. He’s rocketed through the ranks of the Aurors, a rising star with a quick draw and a wide, toothy smile.

He’s the reason Rhys had dragged Vaughn up to the Transfiguration classroom two hours early, so they could be _sure_ to get front row seats. Just in case Jack Lawrence does show. He’s glad they came early; the room is filling up, the shuffle of feet on stone and the low murmur of casual conversation covering up the impatient _tap-tap-tapping_ of Rhys’ quill against the desk.

“Bro.” Vaughn reaches out and flattens his hand over Rhys’, pushing the quill flat against the desk. “This is pathetic, even for you. He probably won’t even be -”

“This is it, right? God, I remember this like it was yesterday.” A strong voice floats in from the hallway and then Jack Lawrence - _Jack Lawrence, it’s him, it’s really him_ \- pushes the half-closed Transfiguration door open with a _bang_ and sails in, strides wide and confident like he owns the place. He’s followed by three other forgettable-looking middle-aged witches and wizards who mill about uncertainly in the front of the classroom, and trailed by the Headmistress, who watches with faint amusement as Jack paces the room, glancing up at the ceiling and out the windows.

“- here,” Vaughn finishes weakly, and Rhys gives him a smug glance before yanking his hand away and looking back at Jack.

This is the closest he’s ever been to his idol. He’s not going to miss a second of it.

The other Ministry representatives take seats on the stools set up at the front of the room at the Headmistress’ direction, but Jack is still prowling the front of the classroom, poking at various objects as if he can coax them to change shape just by looking at them.

Maybe he can, Rhys thinks giddily. There’s probably no limit to what Jack Lawrence can do.

“Mr. Lawrence.” The Headmistress sounds mild but uncompromising. Rhys has never heard her sound anything but. “If you’ll join us, please?” Jack looks up from where he’s examining a rat skull and grins.

“Sure thing, sure thing. _Headmistress_ .” He chuckles, although Rhys isn’t sure what the joke is, setting the skull down and taking the remaining seat. His long coat hangs behind him as he props one boot on a rung of the stool and rests his forearm on his knee. He looks alert and _alive_ , in a way that the other three Ministry officials in their nondescript suits and their boring, puffy faces just _don’t_.

Rhys thinks he might be a little bit in love.

He doesn’t hear much of the Headmistress’ welcoming introductions. He’s transfixed by Jack’s face, the way his eyes rove the classroom as the other officials answer questions. It looks like he’s marking each individual student down in a mental register, and Rhys holds his breath when Jack gets to the front row.

It might be wishful thinking, but he thinks Jack’s grin widens when he meets Rhys’ eyes. He _definitely_ winks before moving on, and oh my god, Rhys could die right now and die happy, Handsome Jack Lawrence _winked_ at him, his head feels like it’s going to burst -

Vaughn elbows him in the side and Rhys exhales in a rush, the ringing in his ears subsiding. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Vaughn shaking his head pityingly but Rhys doesn’t care, leaning forward as Jack answers his first question.

“How did I get to be an Auror? Same way anyone else does; fast draw with a wand and a nose for the Dark Arts.” Jack leans back on the stool, lacing his fingers around his knee. It sounds like a practiced answer, one he’s given many times before. “Oh, and at least five N.E.W.T.S. That’s on the application form, don’t forget those, kids.” A low chuckle goes around the room even though he can’t be more than six or seven years older at most than most of the students.

“What’s the most dangerous mark you’ve ever brought in?” The call comes from somewhere to Rhys’ left, and Rhys knows the answer to this; he’s made a thorough study of Jack’s career. His lips almost move along when Jack answers.

“The necromantic cult outside of Warbler’s Hollow, easy.” This too has the feel of a well-rehearsed line, and Rhys wonders what it would take to get Jack to answer off-the-cuff, to say what he _really_ thinks. “They had some impressive wards set up; incredible, really, what a little blood magic can do.”

“You almost sound as if you admire them,” the witch from the International Magical Office of Law says sourly, and Jack looks over in surprise. The room hushes for a second as Jack’s brows draw down; then he relaxes, shoulders dropping, and grins.

“I admire competence,” he says, and there’s a little more steel, a little more _truth_ in this answer than there maybe was in the others. “And competence is sometimes hard to find, _Hudson_.” The witch’s mouth flattens; she’s clearly not happy with Jack’s answer, but Jack has already looked away, back at the classroom. “Next question.”

Rhys is debating asking _tell us about DuVall_ , the question see-sawing back and forth in his chest. He wants to hear it, wants to hear the story almost more than anything - but he’s not sure he wants the rest of the room to hear it, either, and he bites his cheek as if the pain will bring some clarity. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask, heedless of stirring up that old shitstorm again, when a new question rings out from the back of the room.

“What’s the greatest challenge facing wizards today?”

Rhys doesn’t recognize the voice but he doesn’t waste time trying to figure it out, caught by the way Jack’s spine goes straight and his eyes darken. Hudson opens her mouth but Jack waves a hand and cuts her off before she can speak.

“No, no, I got this one. The greatest challenge facing wizard-kind,” Jack says, leaning forward, “was signed in 1689. You think Dark Wizards give a shit about the Statute of Secrecy? They leave a trail of destruction behind them that _we_ have to clean up, and what do we get for it?” Jack’s grin turns sharper, his eyes burning, and Rhys has _never_ heard anyone sound like this, let alone about one of the most important laws in the wizarding world. “ _Silence_ . _Secrecy_ . We’re living in the shadows, when we don’t have to. Our enemies don’t care about hiding - why should we?” Jack’s leaning forward, intent, and _this_ has a ring of truth to it that resonates in Rhys’ soul. He’s not breathing again, but this feels like something he’s always _known_ , but has never heard anyone dare _say_.

Why _should_ wizards have to stay behind the scenes? His parents always had, and look where that had gotten them - dead before he turned fifteen. Rhys feels almost aglow with the possibility of what Jack is suggesting.

The witch from the Muggle Liaison Office clears her throat. “That is, of course, just Jack’s opinion, and _not_ the official position of the Ministry of Magic.”

Jack relaxes all at once, leaning back; but the fire in his eyes is only banked, not extinguished.

“Right. Of course. Just my opinion.”

 

* * *

 

Vaughn has to leave immediately after the panel is over to meet his Arithmancy study group, but Rhys gathers up his things slowly, trying to look like he’s just very methodical and _not_ lingering until he gets a chance to get close to Jack. The Headmistress sweeps Jack and the other Ministry officials out the door before Rhys has an opportunity, however, so Rhys follows them, drifting at what he hopes is a safe distance. The Headmistress says something too low for Rhys to hear, shakes each of their hands, and departs in the direction of her office. The wizard from Broom Regulatory Control says something that sounds vaguely like a question, and while the other two nod Jack doesn’t respond, looking off in the direction the Headmistress went. He waves his companions off when the wizard repeats himself impatiently, striking off eastward when the other Ministry officials head toward the castle entrance.

Rhys follows, hurrying to catch up.

Jack walks the halls of Hogwarts confidently, like it’s been months and not years since he was a student here. He makes his way unerringly toward the Trophy Room, long coat billowing after him as he pushes the doors open and steps inside. Rhys hesitates at the corner, but he’s come this far. He _has_ to do this.

When Rhys works up the courage to step over the threshold, Jack is examining the photo wall, hands clasped behind his back. The picture of Jack as Head Boy catches sight of Rhys in the doorway and waves, and Jack turns.

“Was wondering when you would catch up.” The grin he flashes is wide and impersonal. “What can I do for you, kiddo? Autograph? Advice? My advice is generally along the lines of ‘don’t suck,’ but there’s always an excep-”

“I wanted to thank you,” Rhys blurts out, feeling his face heat as Jack’s eyebrows raise. “For Godric DuVall.”

Jack’s brows knit for a second; then his face clears, and he looks Rhys up and down appraisingly. When his gaze comes back to Rhys’ face his eyes are dark and piercing, like he’s really seeing Rhys for the first time.

“Godric DuVall, huh. You must be the LeConte kid.” Rhys nods and Jack gestures him over. “Well don’t just stand there, come on.” Rhys practically trips over his own feet in his haste to comply, and once he’s close enough Jack settles a hand on his shoulder, peering at his face as if there’s something written there Jack can almost read. Rhys holds his breath, acutely conscious of the warm weight on his shoulder and the singing in his blood at being _this near_ to Handsome Jack Lawrence.

He’s even more handsome up close, Rhys thinks faintly, and hopes he’s not blushing as hard as he feels.

Jack pulls back. “Well, look. That business with your parents was nasty stuff - don’t look at me like that,” he says as Rhys bristles reflexively. “All I’m saying is, DuVall got what was coming to him. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“Did he suffer?” Rhys asks quietly. He’s suddenly afraid to look Jack in the eye, afraid that he’ll be judged for this, but this is what he really wants to know - _did he suffer like my parents suffered_.

Godric DuVall hadn’t come back to the Ministry alive. Most of Handsome Jack Lawrence’s marks don’t.

Jack’s grin goes subtly wider, and when Rhys dares to look him full in the face again Jack’s eyes are warm and approving.

“Do you want me to tell you how he screamed?” Jack says softly, and Rhys’ breath catches. Jack’s voice is low and hypnotic, and everything Rhys wants to hear. “Do you want to hear that he cried like a little bitch? Or maybe you want to hear how he begged not to die.” Rhys feels hot, dizzy from Jack’s words, and his breath comes faster as Jack leans in closer.

“He did all that and more, pumpkin,” Jack breathes into Rhys’ ear and Rhys shivers, lightheaded and unsteady on his feet. “Believe me, DuVall got what was coming to him.” Rhys closes his eyes.

“ _Good_ .” It comes out harsh, Rhys’ throat closing up against the roil in his stomach. It’s _victory_ and _relief_ and something else, something about Jack’s breath warm on his ear and the heat radiating from his body. Jack squeezes Rhys’ shoulder, stepping back, and Rhys opens his eyes to find Jack searching through an inside pocket in his coat.

“Here.” Jack pulls out a mustard yellow card that appears to be blank on both sides. He flicks the front with his finger and black script rolls across it, spelling out his name in a heavy cursive. He hands it to Rhys, who curls his fingers around it curiously.

“You’re graduating this year, right? Good,” Jack says when Rhys nods. “You need a recommendation, an introduction, advice -” he taps the card in Rhys’ hand. “You use this to get ahold of me. Works one time,” he adds as Rhys stares at the card in his hands. “So make sure it’s a good one.”

“I - I _will_ , thank you, oh my god, _thank you_ -” Rhys’ babbling is cut off when Jack claps him on the shoulder.

“Just don’t tell anyone I gave it to you, all right?” Jack winks again and Rhys feels heat wash through him from head to toe. “Wouldn’t want anyone to say I was playing favorites, you know.”

“I - no, of course not.” Rhys stands up a little straighter under Jack’s approving gaze. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, kiddo.” There’s something about Jack’s smile that Rhys wants to keep with him always, to carry against the uncertainty of the world. “You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, I can tell.”

 

* * *

 

Rhys tucks Jack’s card away in his well-worn copy of _Profiles in Magic: the Jack Lawrence Story,_ right in the middle of the chapter about Jack’s Quidditch career at Hogwarts. If anyone finds it - which they probably won’t; he knows for a fact that he has the most extensive Handsome Jack Lawrence merchandise collection in Slytherin House - it can be passed off as a bookmark, a novelty item. At night Rhys lulls himself to sleep with the memory of Jack’s voice telling him he has _a bright future._

Then Jack burns Little Addington to the ground, and everything changes.

**Author's Note:**

> This series is a collaboration between [me](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) and [scootsaboot](http://scootsaboot.tumblr.com).


End file.
